


Desert Magic

by roguesgallery



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/M, Smaller age gap because I say so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-16 11:30:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18520603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roguesgallery/pseuds/roguesgallery
Summary: He was hungry, always so hungry. He sweated through the sheets when he dreamed of the desert sun. Shivered under piles of blanket when the sand was lit only by the moons. He tried to magic up an apple, a glass of cool water but the lifeforce around him was so dim that the simple charm wasted away in the desert sand.The dreams saved him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Spiegatrix_Lestrange](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiegatrix_Lestrange/gifts).



The best magicians always came from the desert. No one knew why. Was it the isolation? The emptiness? Did the desert storms tell secrets? Magic schools on planets with abundant resources did their best to replicate the asceticism of the desert - restricting their students’ food, water, companionship. All this did was produce weak wizards with emotional problems. No, the desert was the answer.

Since the Battle of Yavin, when the last true threat to the Empire was snuffed out, when a child was identified with raw talent (toys spinning in the air, cookies that multiplied when Mother was not looking) they would be transported to the desert with the most basic of supplies. Sure, some did not make it and yes, some parents raised a fuss but fewer than one would think. After all, the Empire _did_ need its magicians.

Once in a while a child would escape the Empire’s notice. This was near to impossible with their total control of population growth and the educational system. But, if the child’s parents were wealthy enough, connected enough, the child could be hidden. Maybe they needed to be homeschooled due to some rare disease even magic couldn’t fix. Perhaps they were being groomed to take over a family role (The Empire liked to consider itself a meritocracy but no Empire had ever been able to fully snuff out nepotism). Of course, if such deception was uncovered, the child and their parents would suffer the full fury of the Empire. To refuse to serve the Empire in the capacity one is best suited for is theft. And theft is punished by death. Or worse. After all, it does not take consent for a magician’s power to be used to fuel the ever looming Deathstar, the silent and burning spell that spoke death to planets whole.

Ben Solo’s parents were both wealthy and connected. More than that, they inspired great personal loyalty. The kind of loyalty that kept servants tightlipped and protective. It helped that his grandfather was one of the heroes of the Empire, his masked countenance on propaganda throughout the galaxy. Never his scarred face, of course, power was best welded when it looked effortless. And so Ben Solo grew up, the descendant of heroes and royalty (The Empire had got rid of such things but still, it did leave a certain shine), a supposedly sickly dud in the Skywalker dynasty’s otherwise glorious history.

Rey, who had no last name, no parents, no wealth, was not so lucky. Or luckier if power was what one craved.

 

* * *

 

Ben received his first magic lessons at his mother’s knee. “Remember, your shield is your mask. Your armour. You take all of your power and hide it away in a small place. The smallest place you can find.”

“Like a Porg’s egg?”

“Yes, my bright boy. Just like that. Your shield is the shell and it will keep the baby bird safe. Your power is that baby bird. Precious and new. Hide it away as carefully as you can.”

“Especially from Grandfather, right mama?” His mother took a deep breath, closing her eyes and making her beautiful face smooth and expressionless.

“Yes, Ben, especially from him. I will help as long as I can but as your power grows you’ll have to be more and more careful.”

Ben nodded solemnly. His mother pressed a firm kiss against his forehead, cradling his face in her hands. “Now get ready for dinner. Lord Vader and Uncle Luke will be here soon.”

Ben ran off, vowing that one day he would save his mother from the man she always called Lord and never Father.

 

* * *

 

His mother could hide him away but she could not stop the nightmares. First they were based on the very true danger he faced; the proctor tearing him from his mother, his father executed by a stormtrooper as he watched, and then the desert, always the desert. He was a precocious child and had learned of the fate of children like him early. He tried to hide, always hide, his power, his anger, his fear. Yelled at for changing the colour of his beloved pooka doll, scolded when he used a thought to reach for a drink instead of his clumsy toddler fingers. His mother, weeping inside, as she forced a foul smelling potion down his throat before his first examination by the Emperor’s proctor at the age of thirteen. That, coupled with a heavy suggestion spell by his Uncle, saved him for four years.

He wondered if his grandfather knew. As hard as he tried his shielding had always been imperfect. That was why he had to be hidden away with private tutors and the minimum of public events. Was this another thing Anakin ignored in his desire to have both family and Empire?

The nightmares, he figured, were the punishment he received for escaping the desert training fields like all the rest of his kind. The punishment of his sleeping hours anyways. The punishment of the day was the loneliness. After the age of thirteen, any hint that strong magic lay within him could be grounds for re-testing. As his parents did the delicate work of resistance they could not afford an unstable, underage magician on their property. Not if they wanted to use it, and his father’s ships, to help defectors and the few rebels left. He was a weakness, a danger, his magic pounding out of him like the sound of drums. He understood, he did. They were doing important work but they visited when they could. He lived in the paradise of his grandmother’s estate in Naboo. Bath warm water and fields full of flowers. So what if his magic had become so wild that he could only live with only a few trusted droids for company? His grandfather’s spells, from the days before Palpatine, animated them, making them eccentric but absolutely trustworthy.

Three years after his first exam, the dreams changed. They felt real. Real to his mind, his power and even his body. He was hungry, always so hungry. He sweated through the sheets when he dreamed of the desert sun. Shivered under piles of blanket when the sand was lit only by the moons. He tried to magic up an apple, a glass of cool water but the lifeforce around him was so dim that the simple charm wasted away in the desert sand.

The dreams saved him.

The Empire tested all its subjects again on their 17th birthday. They were sequestered for weeks before exams to prevent cheating. Even his Uncle couldn’t visit him. They would be tested for magical ability and take a written civil service placement test. Even a small amount of magical power could be useful, especially since the right amount would open doors but keep you safe from the desert. No one below a Level 5 would ever survive the desert. Leia figured that Ben’s only chance was to shield well enough to show as a level 2 or 3. But his shielding had worsened since moving to Naboo, its flares spiking with puberty. Leia’s shielding was a fortress. Even she did not know how powerful she was. Unlike her twin, she kept it hidden from the Empire and her self. It helped that it was a lie she wanted to tell herself. Any power she had came from him and she wanted nothing to do with it. She kissed Ben’s brow firmly before he walked into the examination building. He had to stoop for her to reach.

During the day he listlessly studied the exam prep. In the night he struggled to survive.

The new dreams sapped him of his strength, leaving him a null for the day that followed. He could barely raise his arm to activate the pre-spelled orb by his bed much less make one shine or move with his power. He passed (or in this case failed) his examination with flying colours. The Emperor's lackeys whispered to each other what a shame it was to see Anakin Skywalker's heir so sickly and weak. His mother tried not to show her relief. Or her terror.

As soon as they were at Leia’s home in the capital she sat him down on the embroidered settee and took his hand in hers. “Ben, how did you shield yourself so well? The Empire's proctor is a five level at least, maybe a six. Magicians fight for the role. It keeps them away from the Deathstar and drowning in bribes. How?”

“First it was just flashes. I was in a small shuttle with some other kids. Most of them were crying. I was in weird clothes, too light for space. I remember shivering. And then a blast of hot air, strong enough to to make you want to shrivel up. I could feel the sun hurting my eyes, the sand biting. It felt so real.”

“Oh Ben. It was the stress of the exams. It’s over now. You’re safe.” She took his hand in hers, her brown eyes so earnest. Decades under the Empire had made her very good at lying especially to herself.

 

* * *

 

Maybe she was right, maybe they were just anxiety dreams, a masochistic peek into the life he could have had. But that didn’t explain the draining of his power. Ben had alway felt that his magic was barely held in check, his shields a leaky dam. The mornings after a dream he felt like he hadn’t slept at all. As the weeks progressed the dreams only got clearer and more detailed.

He started the fire that provided little warmth but kept the creatures prowling the desert night away. He gathered the others to share the small circle of safety. He sung the weaving song that turned his head covering into a small tent that shielded them as they slept. It was big magic for him, the dream him, singing every linen link into existence. It was strange. He never used music to center his magic, it was too obvious and public. But in the desert, his voice thin and cracking with repressed sobs, he sang and sang.

Magic had two elements, every child knew this, one devised from human work, the other from the natural world. Fusing the two together drew from the magician's own power. To create his blanket he called on the wind, which could tangle and knot any thread. By singing he brought the wind into himself with each deep breath; the words he sung, a simple children’s chant meant to make mending work go faster, gave the wind and his power direction. Ben preferred the written word to concentrate and direct his magic. He would carefully write his desires down, with ink of his own making, on his skin, covering them with layers of clothing until the ink, and the spell wore off. They said the greatest magicians did not need any words, spoken, sung or written.

He did not dream every night. If he had, he would have been as weak and sick as his family made him out to be. Every time he did dream it was of increasingly difficult magical tasks: convincing a toothpick stolen from a local bar to grow into a staff as tall as a Wookie, making a large figure leave him and the other children alone, a binding spell activating as he tied a complicated knot with quick fingers.

He could not see his other’s face, instead he saw out of their eyes. Words were muddled and confusing when not laced with the clarity of a spell. Only the magic was clear. And feelings, as his desert other cycled through anger, despair and always settling on an unending spring of hope.

Ben did not dare to look up anything magical on the holonet, there were spells for tracking that sort of thing. Luckily, his grandmother and the other royals of Naboo had practiced the written word and bookbinding with paper made from local flora. An acceptable extravagance for the rich and titled. Her estate was full of books covering every subject from magic, politics, gardening and fashion. Even pre-Empire history. Those books alone could justify his execution. Luckily, his grandfather had forbidden any change to made to Padme’s home. Only Palpatine could overrule Anakin Skywalker’s pronouncements.

His Grandfather had caught him practicing Nabooian calligraphy once. He had squeezed Ben’s shoulder tightly and walked away. Ben didn’t know if the touch was made in pride or censure. Either way he hid his hobbies from his grandfather after that, retreating to his “sick” bed whenever he felt Anakin's presence.

Ben read every book he could about magic and even more about survival in the desert: how to use a tarp to collect dew, which plants could be tapped, how to track the few rangy animals that made the wasteland their home. Magic had to be saved for when no other skills would do.

Ben could not pinpoint when he decided the dreams were real, that he was connected to one of his kind and they needed him. Maybe he still wasn’t sure they were true and not just a product of a lonely, deranged mind. Madness ran in his bloodline as surely as power. But what else did he have to give his days meaning?

He researched the Empire’s “training methods” desperate for any loophole. According to the Empire's rules, the desert children were allowed to survive however they could as long as they didn't kill each other or damage other Empire resources. This, of course, did not outlaw beating or stealing. The older children (for training continued until the age of seventeen) often descended on the new recruits. He dreamed that he had a handful of tokens (“portions” the people in his dreams called them). They were meant to kept the children alive (barely) through the first few weeks while they learned basic survival spells. He dreamt his thin child's hand (so different from his real one, awkward and huge like a puppy who had not yet fully grown) worried them in their fingers, constantly counting and recounting the dwindling supply. He decided they would make perfect copies of them. This should have been near impossible. The level of detail on the coins was intricate and the anti-tampering spells were woven into every curlicle. Ben’s long practiced calligraphy and rare coins collecting finally would serve a purpose other than filling his long days. He spent a full week dreaming of the work while researching and practicing during the day. He could keep up with the demand on his power because the spells were finicky and numerous but not too powerful individually. Once the task was complete both in the dream and waking world he spread the now endless tokens among the new children. That is how his dream double survived the first year until the annual visit from the Empire's representative. He collected taxes and whatever magicians had survived four years in the desert. He was not amused by Ben’s shortcut but it hadn't been against the rules (it was now) so no punishment could be meted out.

The damage had been done. By creating the portion coins and sharing them among their cohort his dream self had created a bond never experienced before by the desert children. More than that, the Year One children had months where they were able to focus on more complex spells instead of the basic food and water ones that didn’t teach much but drew energy from a magic user like the blasted Deathstar.

He missed the tokens and knew his dream other did too.

The worst was spelling the dew collected in the morning to pull more moisture from the dry air. He remembered his Uncle's tales of living on a moisture farm (before his grand lineage was revealed and he took his rightful place at Vader's side) and poured more energy into the dream. When he woke he was so dehydrated his droids had to use a barbarically old-fashioned needle based system to get fluids inside him fast enough.

He realized then that he would need to be able to communicate with his other. He wanted to help but would not be able to if their connection killed him.

He began daily mediation. He was horrible at mediating, always had been. His Uncle had tried to teach him repeatedly, drilling into him that meditation and the control it gave him was the only way he had been able to survive Palpatine all these years. His Uncle walked the line between the Empire and the nascent rebellion, revealing what he could to his sister and sabotaging what he could not fully stop. Ben had once seen his Uncle weeping into his mother’s shoulder, like a child, hopeless and total. Ben had felt such a sharp jealousy in that moment until his mother saw him and gave him the smallest, saddest smile he had ever seen. He understood then that it was up to them to protect Luke, to lighten his burdens. Ben had moved to Naboo not long after.

He mediated, staring at the tall grasses as they moved in the wind. He felt the sun on his skin and tried to let its heat open his mind more fully to his desert other.

It was during one these sessions that he realized his other was a girl.

The dreams always focused on the magic, which made sense - it was what connected them. As he mediated more he began to see other moments in the youths’ lives. How they could barter healing or luck spells to the villagers in return for access to the holonet or the baths. The outpost was full of people willing to get rich off of child labour. The child magicians had no contact with anyone other than the villagers and the annual visit from the Empire’s representative. The villagers could charge the kids whatever they wanted and then resell the spells for a large profit.

One of the boys must have been in the stormtrooper program before being sent to the desert. He led them in basic drills and hand to hand combat. By this point, most of the older trainees had joined in. Ben saw how the whole cohort slept in one large tent, exhausted, sharing body heat like pookas in a pile.

One day, after a particularly deep session of mediation, he saw her face. She was arguing with a Crolate, the owner of the local scrap yard and the only bar in town. He was ignoring her and pretending to polish the chrome countertop. Ben saw her reflection in it. It wasn’t a perfect mirror but he could make out the delicacy of her features, the dark hair pulled back into three buns.

He was shocked. He had never even consider that his other was a girl. She had always felt so much like a part of him that he had just assumed she was a boy. His face got very red and warm to the touch though he couldn’t have said why. Maybe because girls were as foreign and fantastical to him as the Gungans who were rumored to live in Naboo’s oceans and spurned human contact.

He was dying to know her name.

He had never been able to directly communicate with her. He studied all day and somehow the connection shared his knowledge with her but he had never been able to say hi or share even the basics of his existence. Meditation during day strengthened the dreams at night but he was still trapped behind her eyes. How aware was she of him? She had to know something was giving her knowledge and sharing power, right? How did she explain his presence? Did she dream of him? Did she feel his feelings? Ben tried everything he could think of but it was like was a wall kept him from communicating directly. He wanted to give up. He felt destined to live his life as a ghost, whether in Naboo or the desert.

Imaging himself as a ghost (first thing he would do would be switching all of the Emperor’s formal black robes to day glo pink) gave him an idea. He thought back to that first spell they had completed together, linking knot after knot, singing with the wind. He thought of how clearly he could see her hands. He pictured them, rough, sunburnt and delicate.

He waited until she was having a short break off on her own, taking tiny sips of warm water from her canteen, shadowed by her tent. He imagined sitting beside her, the grit of the sand, the coolness where the the wind teased a few strands of loose hair, wet with exertion. He tried to be that wind. Then he wrote,

**Hello** , every line an effort as he bent the wind to his will, using its fingers as his own. She startled, jumping up, staff clenched in her hand. He could see her shouting, ready to attack whatever strange person or force she could find. She was fierce, his other.

**Can’t hear well** , he wrote, **only see**.

She kicked at the sand where his words formed, erasing them completely. His heart sank.

She settled down again in the shadows. After some long minutes, she shook herself and reached into her utility belt for a stylus. She wrote fast and messy in the sand. **Are you a demon**? Ben laughed. He too had heard of R’iia, a demon who rode the wind causing mischief and storms. **Hardly** , he responded.

**Who are you**?

He thought carefully on how to response. Was there a word for what they were to each other? **A friend** , he wrote and held his breath.

Something wet splashed against the dry sand. He realized she was crying. **Are you** , she stopped, obviously as confused to what to call them as Ben was. **Mine**?

What could he say but yes? Her shoulders shook as he wrote out the three letters.

**What’s your name?**

**Ben.**

**I’m Rey.**

**Nice to formally meet you.**

**Are you dead?**

**No. Just far away. But I’m here for you. Always.** Rey’s shoulders shook harder but she was smiling. Ben’s strength was fading. The wind left him, happy to be free again.

 

* * *

 

There was an important broadcast scheduled - a message from the Emperor. All citizens were _strongly encouraged_ to watch. Unpleasant things had happened in the past to people who missed the Emperor’s galaxy wide pronouncements. The viewing was scheduled for 5 pm Naboo time and Ben decided to celebrate by drinking as much as he could as and as fast as he could. It was his 18th birthday.

The Emperor appeared on the viewscreen. He was both ancient and never aging. There were whispers he had found the key to everlasting life. He began the announcements with the regular platitudes: the Empire was strong, it had brought peace and order to the galaxy. He used to have better speech writers. Ben wondered where they were now. Or perhaps the Emperor had become so complacent in his supremacy that he no longer cared if his messages sounded trite and banal. Ben wondered if there was a drinking game for them. One shot for a mention of “terrorists”, two for “purges”, if the man laughed, drink the whole bottle to forget.

Ben wished he could be more like his father. Han Solo wasn’t afraid of an old man in a robe. He thumbed his nose at the idea of control. Smugglers knew total control was an illusion. “Rebels and criminals,” he’d said, “the more you try to stamp them out, the more you spread the seeds.” Ben always felt a chill looking at those cold, intelligent eyes even from the safety of his refuge on Naboo. “The number of competent magicians has reduced throughout the galaxy,” the Emperor’s raspy voice proclaimed. “This shortfall must be remedied. As the stormtrooper training corps has evolved through the decades, so must the schooling of new magicians. We must not let the safety and prosperity of the Empire weaken the new generation. To coddle our children is to rob them of their potential. Therefore, children with an aptitude for magic will now be sent to the desert at the age of ten. They will be stronger for it and better able to serve the Empire.”

Ben threw a very fine crystal decanter of Coreilan whiskey through the viewscreen. He passed out before the droids began cleaning up the shards.

Ben did not nap during the day. Even when he had given more than his teenage body could bear to Rey, he did not succumb to sleep while the sun was out. That way lead to days lost and a steep uphill climb back to routine and normalcy. He had done it before, all those lonely days in his sick bed. He could not fail her like that. But today, with the Emperor’s voice in his ear and the whiskey in his empty belly, he slept.

Rey slept too. She was dreaming.

All this time, he realized, their diurnal patterns were completely opposite. While she was conscious, he was asleep and vice versa. But now she was dreaming and she was dreaming of him.

She sat across from a dream version of himself, a fire burning between them, a rough magic spun blanket around her shoulders. He could tell it was him by the dark hair hanging around his face, the lanky teenage body and the hands. The hands were his down to the writing callous on his index finger. His face though, that was distorted, like looking at someone through warped glass.

She was telling him about her day. “I don’t know what we are going to do when the younglings come. Ten years old.” She sighed, as heavy with worries as his mother. “we can barely feed ourselves. Hux and Phasma keep raiding our stores. You think they would have learned after the last batch made their faces turn blue. Rose says the next time we should make the food curdle in their stomachs but I’m still hoping they will join us. We’d be stronger together. They will be gone in a few months anyways. Their fourth year is almost finished. They are the only ones left of their cohort and they can’t think of anything better to do with their time then steal from the younger kids. Maybe Rose is right.”

“They’ll be expecting me to come up with a plan. Even Finn. They all think I’m in charge because of the business with the portions. I tried to tell them that was you but they don’t believe me. They don’t think you exist. Hux said that breaking through the shields around a training planet would kill the magic user who tried. He always pretends like he knows everything just because his father is a General. His father couldn’t be that powerful if he still ended up here.”

She played with a loose thread on her blanket. “Maybe you aren’t real. Maybe I had sunstroke and made you up. You wouldn’t be my first imaginary friend. But if you are real,” her slim shoulders drooped. “I could really use your help.”

Ben woke, his mouth dry and head pounding. He sent an encoded message to the Millenium Falcon as soon as the room stopped spinning. He needed to stop wasting time. Rey needed him.

END CHAPTER ONE


	2. Chapter 2

 

A week later, Ben came out of his meditative state to find his father standing over him.

“Aw, kid.” Han’s face was full of dismay. Ben looked down at himself. He guessed his clothes did hang a bit. “You look like you’ve been in a Huttense prison for a year. Your mother told me you’d been having some troubles but-” Han cut himself off and tugged Ben up and into a rough hug. “Tell me everything.” So Ben did.

“So, you think this girl, Rey, is real?”

Ben nodded furiously. “I know she is. It’s hard though. We don’t have much control over the connection but she can draw on my power and if I learn a spell, she knows it too. Sometimes, if I mediate really deeply I can write to her.” He didn’t tell his father about being in Rey’s dream. It felt private.

“Can you use her power?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never tried.”

“I’m not going to lie, kid. I don’t like this. You aren’t some battery to be drained for someone else. That’s what Leia and I were trying to protect you from in the first place.”

“Protect me for what? So I can grow old alone and safe as you and mom die in one of the Emperor’s purges? Hey, if we’re lucky Grandfather can execute you himself! No, better - he can make Luke do it!”

Ben ran off, feeling ten again and powerless. He wanted make his father understand that he had purpose for the first time. Spending his life hiding had made him a shadow of a person, running on fear and routine, until now. Until Rey.

Han found him hours later. He was holed up in the portrait gallery, all the paintings covered except one of his Grandmother in full regalia. She had been fifteen when she saved Naboo from the Trade Federation’s army. Ben was eighteen and couldn’t make enough water for Rey’s daily needs without almost dying.

Han slid down the wall to sit beside him on the hard marble floor. “I’m sorry, kid. You’re right. We’ve been working so hard to keep you from Palpatine’s notice that we trapped you in a box. A box shaped like a royal palace but still a box. I don’t understand all this magic stuff but if you want to go save the girl, I’m in.”

“What? How? I don’t even know what planet she is on! There are thousands of desert worlds!”

 Han sighed. “More. Palpatine’s been draining the life from system after to system to power that damn Deathstar. None of this will be over until we stop that spell. But you don’t worry about that. Leave that to me and your mom. Your job is to get strong. No more starving yourself. If you are,” Han chuckled, “eating for two then you’ve got to eat more. Build some muscle. Practice with the droids. Rescuing Princesses isn’t all magic spells and mystical connections. Sometimes you have to land a punch.”

“Rey isn’t a princess.”

“A tough as carbonite gal who will probably save herself before we even get there? Sounds like a Princess to me.”

 

* * *

 

Ben began to train. He had never paid much attention to the physical arts. Any sign of strength could undercut the family lie of his “weakness”. He told himself he preferred more intellectual pursuits when he watched other children play outside his window.

Turns out hitting things was fun.

It helped that Rey had been fighting her whole life. He still didn’t know where she had lived before being dropped off in the desert, but it couldn’t have been anywhere too pleasant. She fought with rage barely leashed. He could feel it through his body and it pushed him to his limits and past.

He slept during the day so he could live with her in the night. When she wasn’t fighting, she was practicing spells, mostly defensive ones or illusions. She was good at it. Soon she could stand in the middle of a desert plain, the only living thing for miles, and no one could find her.

Except him. He always knew where she was.

 

* * *

 

They couldn’t write to each other every day, it sapped his strength too much and there was training to do. Still, they scribbled fast notes to each other whenever they could, trading secrets and sharing stories. One day, he blew the last of his power drawing her a picture of a porg. A family of them had stowed away on his Uncle’s ship during one of his mysterious trips. It made her so happy, just little bit of silliness and his unimpressive drawing skills, that he didn’t mind the lightheadedness when he woke. Her joy at any new discovery was worth more than a little dizziness.

He learned about the other desert kids: Finn, the former stormtrooper, wasn’t the strongest of magic users. His strength seem to come from how quickly others came to trust and care for him. Maybe that was its own type of magic. Rose tested as a 4.7, which should have kept her safe, but her older sister refused a proctor’s advances and her score got rounded up. She made up for her low score with ingenuity. She created magical tools and machines so lovingly and carefully constructed that their magic lasted far longer than Ben would have thought possible.

On the anniversary of their second year Rose created a fireworks display. At first it looked like one that anyone could make if they has a working knowledge of explosives (which Rose did, she came from a mining planet) except he realized that something more substantial than sparks were falling to earth. They ran to the spot the light had fallen and found that each sparkle had transformed into a small metal toy: birds that flapped their wings, flowers that open and closed with a touch of your finger, tiny fathiers that would chase you playfully. It was a silly, profligate use of magic. And it was beautiful.

 

* * *

 

The desert children had moved on from the simple forms Finn taught them. They attempted more and more elaborate moves and sometimes when the moves flowed just right strange things began to happen. Rose, who was maybe five feet on tiptoes sent Snap flying. Rey could leap Finn’s full height. Ben realized they were tapping into something ancient. He remembered Uncle Luke discussing with Leia how any artform could be used direct power. Warfare was, regretfully, one of the oldest artforms in the galaxy. “One of the reasons Vader is so terrifying is the way he moves, like a predator but it is also formal, like a ritual? I think the forms he uses are one of the way he directs his power. He still won’t trust me with most of them. He has shown me bits of Soresu, defensive moves, but nothing like what he can do. I don’t know how to get him to trust me fully. No, that’s not true.” Luke looked at his hands, covered with thick black leather gloves. “I don’t want to do the things that will gain me his complete trust.”

Somehow they were tapping into these forms. The girls first, then the boys. The boys tended to depend too much on physical strength while the girls focused on form and speed. When they figured out a move that would spark their power - weightlessness, increased speed or density, they would drill relentlessly until even the youngest could barrel through rocks or jump from one sand dune to the next.

Ben worked just as hard in his empty palace. He was going to need some more practice droids.

 

* * *

 

The next time Han came, he brought Leia with him. She stared at him in shock as Han beamed. “Looking good, kid.” Ben’s final growth spurt had been waiting for him to eat more than one meal a day, apparently. Sometimes, he felt like all he did was eat but at least it was paying off.

 Leia gently touched his hair. “You need a haircut.” Ben rolled his eyes. For a moment they felt like a normal family. “So, tell me your plan to steal the Emperor’s magicians.” And they were back to being Skywalkers.

“Have a seat.”

 

* * *

 

Notes in the sand weren’t enough for Ben anymore. They definitely weren’t a very efficient way to plan something as complex as a rescue mission. They needed another way. He finally did what he should have done a year ago and asked Rey for help. She came up with a new plan within minutes, of course. He wrote, **Dream of me tonight** , to Rey, intrigued when she blushed. She nodded, **I’ll try.**

Ben sipped at the spiced wine his father had given him as a belated 18th birthday present. It burned a lot less than the whiskey and tasted a lot better. He wished he could share it with Rey.

He dreamed.

Rey was there with her imagined version of him. They sat across a small fire, just as they had the first time he entered her dreams. His hair was even longer, his forearms more defined but his face was still a distorted mask.

Ben was ready to be seen. “Here goes.” He walked into the image of himself, lining himself up with its arms and legs. He opened his eyes. “Hi.”

Rey’s eyes welled up. “Hi.” She sniffed. “Took you long enough.”

He ran his hand through his hair. “Yeah. I’m a slow learner sometimes. I was so scared of pulling any power from you that I didn’t even consider that it would take both of us to stabilize the connection.”

“Don’t be so dumb again, okay?”

He smiled. Smiling was easy with Rey. “Promise.”

Her eyes sparkled. “I like your ears."

Ben absolutely did not redden. “I like your freckles.”

They sat in silence, grinning like loons.

“So, my dad says he thinks he knows where you are.”

“How is that possible? _I_ don’t even know where I am. They keep us away from any navigational equipment and I think they spelled us because even if a villager mentions where we are none of us can hold on to the name. Believe me, we’ve tried.”

“It’s best not to ask for details where my dad is concerned.”

“Why? Is he Han Solo or something?”

“Uh.”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

Ben shrugged weakly. “Wait until you find out who my grandfather is.”

Turns out it wasn’t possible for Rey to strangle Ben to death in a dream but that didn’t mean she didn’t try her damnedest.

 

* * *

 

They began to plan. Finn was their linchpin. As a stormtrooper he had a geas placed on him that demanded compliance and loyalty in return for greater strength and endurance. All stormtroopers were controlled this way. The Emperor had found, to his disappointment, that such a geas applied to a magician made them little better than a badly programmed droid, utterly without the invention and drive needed for a powerful magic user. They were useless without orders and would starve when the portion supply finished. Whole cohorts died in the desert before he finally called off the testing. When Finn’s magical talent was identified, the geas had to be lifted. Breaking a geas usually killed the bespelled but obviously the Empire had found a safe way to break or modify it.

Kaydel, a desert child from the year under Finn and Rey, had found her strength was in reading spells previously cast. It took awhile for her to discover this ability since any revealing spells were connected to the water element, something too precious to experiment with. But even a desert had rainfall occasionally even if there were years between such miracles. They had laid out every pot, pan, bucket or bowl they could devise. Still water collected in puddles that would dry out before the sun hit its zenith. Kaydel had become fascinated with them, drawing pictures with her fingers through the warm, clear liquid. When she did the water showed her pictures back - pictures of every spell that had been done on that spot for generations back. The sand remembered and the water gave it shape.

In the Emperor’s hands she would have become an interrogator or a spy. For the stormtroopers, she was going to reveal the shape of their trap. She painted Finn with mud (he blushed terribly and would not let Rey or Rose in the tent) finding the the old imprint of the spell in his skin of his right hip. It was in the shape of starburst but none of them had a clue how to change it without re-activating it or killing Finn.

Ben researched desperately to no avail. Luckily, asking for help was getting easier. Ben had just needed practice.

 

* * *

 

Ben filled in his parents using an encrypted channel. His mother and father looked to each other, in sync and serious. “It’s time to tell Luke.”

 

* * *

 

Luke sat down across from Ben, legs crossed, looking like the teacher he could have been in another life. “Magic comes from the life force around you. Like matter, it cannot be created or destroyed. The Deathstar spell breaks those natural laws. It eats life completely leaving voids in the force. The natural world will not allow such an imbalance to continue. It wants to fight back. It just needs us to channel it.”

“Is that why Rey and I are connected?”

“I cannot say. I’ve never heard of such a connection between two strangers. But if what you have observed is accurate, I would think it’s fair to say you two are the most powerful wizards of your generation.”

“Do you think our plan has a chance?”

Luke grinned and the years fell off his face. “Get Finn to Maz and the Empire will lose its backbone with one small spell.”

“And the Deathstar?”

“I’ve got a guy on the inside.” He held up a hand forestalling Ben’s questions. “You don’t need to know more than that. This will be a long road, Ben.”

“Will Grandfather stand with us?”

“I don’t know yet. But I have hope.”

 

* * *

 

Rey and Ben dreamed together.

“You are really coming?”

“Yes. We need to get there right after the Empire’s rep leaves. That will give us the most time to prepare without the Emperor knowing.”

“How will you keep the villagers from informing on us?”

“My mom’s on that.”

“Spells?”

“Mostly money and a whole lot of threats, I think.”

“I’ll be sixteen that day.”

“Really?”

Rey shrugged. “As good as. I don’t know my real birthday. My parents must have lived off the grid because it was never logged. The Empire only found me because I got snapped up for trespassing.”

Ben took a deep breath. “I could be your family, Rey. I mean, I’m not sure it's a family you’d want to join. There is a lot of murder and betrayal, but it’s yours if you want it.”

Rey reached out a hand to him. He took it gently, sliding his fingers against hers, wanting to feel the pulse at her wrist. She stroked her thumb against his. She looked wiser than her sixteen years. “I like what you are to me now.”

He gulped. “What’s that?”

She looked down for a moment, eyes on the small fire that always burned between them in this dream place. When she met his eyes again she looked determined and brave, so brave. “Mine.”

“Yours.” He agreed. The dream spiralled away with the rapid beating of his heart but he knew she had heard.

 

* * *

 

 

The trip to Jakku was short but also felt like the longest hours of Ben’s life. His father argued with Chewie in the cockpit while Ben and Leia prepared the cargo hold for thirty some teenagers. His mother, always the pragmatist, had obtained extra portable freshers. “Teenagers need to shower frequently when they haven’t been kidnapped and left in the desert for years. I can only imagine what these kids smell like.” Ben nodded and rubbed his sweaty hands on his pants. He had shaved. And combed his hair. And stolen a bit of his Dad’s cologne.

The Falcon landed softly on the sand outside Niima outpost. His Dad must had let Chewie park. His mom squeezed his shoulder. “You should do the honours.” She stepped back as the loading ramp lowered.

Ben stood on the ramp of the Millenium Falcon. He could see Finn and Rose. Snap and Kaydel. All the children he knew so well and had never met. And Rey, always Rey. She was grinning widely even as she covered her eyes, protecting them from the sand the Falcon kicked up. For the first time in his life, he felt his legacy settle on his shoulders as a comfortable weight. His grandfather, who had once dreamed of freeing slaves, His mother’s constant defiance in ways both large and small, his father’s disregard of impossible odds, and finally his Uncle’s hope, that had never been fully snuffed out despite years under the Emperor’s yoke. He felt awake. He felt wonderfully and terrifyingly awake and alive. “Who’s ready for a revolution?”

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it, Simona. Thank you and everyone else at The Writing Den for creating such a warm, nuturing place to write and share!


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